the Treeâs leaves had turned almost edge-on to catch the last vestiges of the red starâs heat. Claz said that the Trees used the pressure of starlight, if there was such a thing, to hunt down fresh comets to snare in their roots whenever they sucked the old ones dry. But that was just legend.
Still, one often saw a distant Tree floating free in space without an iceball or clutching an iceball that was shrunken to almost nothing so that it showed a ball of bare roots that were beginning to turn green to catch starlight. One wondered what other tribes did on such worlds. Did they hollow out caves in the God-Tree itself? Live in the branches? Or did they migrate to another God-Tree that might have drifted close enough? If so, the whole tribe would have to make that dangerous leap, not just the intrepid young men who launched themselves into the dark on bride raids whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Torris was feeling hunger now, but he resolved to wait out his fast till morning. He concentrated on climbing and looking out for predators. He was high enough to be in wild territory now, beyond the tribeâs traditional hunting grounds. The more dangerous beasts had not been hunted out here.
Another hour of climbing and he flushed a covey of treehoppers that darted off in all directions. They were four-legged, like most life found in the Tree, with long, prehensile bushy tails. The little creatures somehow never seemed to launch themselves inadvertently into open space; here in the thick of the branches, they almost always managed to fetch up against a twig or cluster of leaves. He didnât bother to chase after any of them with net and spear. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
He was high enough, and he was getting drowsy. He found a sheltered spot in the lee of a branch and laid out his climbing kit. With a bone awl, he tapped into the Treeâs vascular system and at first found only the thin clear resin that his father used to cast faceplates. He drilled deeper into the cambium and obtained a trickle of the watery sweet fluid that was good to drink. He filled a couple of small skins with this. Finally his persistence was rewarded with a gush of air from a cavity where it had collected. He used it to replenish the depleted air sack, adding the airflow to the remaining slush, where, increment by increment, it became slush itself. It took a long time, and when the frozen air had lost the ability to add to itself, he channeled the airstream directly into his sleeping sack through a tube made of meatbeast gut.
That done, he crawled into his sleeping sack, sealed its neck around the improvised breathing tube, and raised his faceplate to inhale the Treeâs gift of air. It had a pleasant resinous smell like carpentered wood. He yawned and dropped off to sleep, the comforting warmth of the stovebeast pressed against his back.
CHAPTER 3
A dim, ruddy glow was filtering through the translucent sack and jerked Torris awake. The red star was in the sky again, and it was time to get moving.
He was ravenous. He tore open the packet of food that Secondmother had prepared for him and felt around inside. The first thing his hand encountered was a folded slice of tree fungus filled with minced meatbeast steak, marinated in its own juices and other flavorings. He wolfed it down immediately, then ate another. He was reaching for a third when he remembered his fatherâs injunction, and he resealed the sack to save some of the food till later. He regretted not having set snares for the fleeing treehoppers the night before; he was going to have to be self-sufficient from now on.
He extricated himself partially from his airsuit and sponged himself off as best he could, using as little as possible of the precious meltwater he had brought with him; the sweetwater he had extracted from the Tree would have left him sticky.
Gratefully, he relieved himself with the help of the suitâs facilities. He would open the
Still, one often saw a distant Tree floating free in space without an iceball or clutching an iceball that was shrunken to almost nothing so that it showed a ball of bare roots that were beginning to turn green to catch starlight. One wondered what other tribes did on such worlds. Did they hollow out caves in the God-Tree itself? Live in the branches? Or did they migrate to another God-Tree that might have drifted close enough? If so, the whole tribe would have to make that dangerous leap, not just the intrepid young men who launched themselves into the dark on bride raids whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Torris was feeling hunger now, but he resolved to wait out his fast till morning. He concentrated on climbing and looking out for predators. He was high enough to be in wild territory now, beyond the tribeâs traditional hunting grounds. The more dangerous beasts had not been hunted out here.
Another hour of climbing and he flushed a covey of treehoppers that darted off in all directions. They were four-legged, like most life found in the Tree, with long, prehensile bushy tails. The little creatures somehow never seemed to launch themselves inadvertently into open space; here in the thick of the branches, they almost always managed to fetch up against a twig or cluster of leaves. He didnât bother to chase after any of them with net and spear. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
He was high enough, and he was getting drowsy. He found a sheltered spot in the lee of a branch and laid out his climbing kit. With a bone awl, he tapped into the Treeâs vascular system and at first found only the thin clear resin that his father used to cast faceplates. He drilled deeper into the cambium and obtained a trickle of the watery sweet fluid that was good to drink. He filled a couple of small skins with this. Finally his persistence was rewarded with a gush of air from a cavity where it had collected. He used it to replenish the depleted air sack, adding the airflow to the remaining slush, where, increment by increment, it became slush itself. It took a long time, and when the frozen air had lost the ability to add to itself, he channeled the airstream directly into his sleeping sack through a tube made of meatbeast gut.
That done, he crawled into his sleeping sack, sealed its neck around the improvised breathing tube, and raised his faceplate to inhale the Treeâs gift of air. It had a pleasant resinous smell like carpentered wood. He yawned and dropped off to sleep, the comforting warmth of the stovebeast pressed against his back.
CHAPTER 3
A dim, ruddy glow was filtering through the translucent sack and jerked Torris awake. The red star was in the sky again, and it was time to get moving.
He was ravenous. He tore open the packet of food that Secondmother had prepared for him and felt around inside. The first thing his hand encountered was a folded slice of tree fungus filled with minced meatbeast steak, marinated in its own juices and other flavorings. He wolfed it down immediately, then ate another. He was reaching for a third when he remembered his fatherâs injunction, and he resealed the sack to save some of the food till later. He regretted not having set snares for the fleeing treehoppers the night before; he was going to have to be self-sufficient from now on.
He extricated himself partially from his airsuit and sponged himself off as best he could, using as little as possible of the precious meltwater he had brought with him; the sweetwater he had extracted from the Tree would have left him sticky.
Gratefully, he relieved himself with the help of the suitâs facilities. He would open the
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